


what's an angel like you ever do with a devil like me

by bottleredhead



Series: that time a tumblr user/anon prompted me [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, So much fluff it will rot your teeth, Tumblr Prompt, you better visit your dentist after reading this to check for fluff-induced cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottleredhead/pseuds/bottleredhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy morning-after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's an angel like you ever do with a devil like me

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by gracietaire on tumblr, E/R based on/influenced by Smile by Sixx A.M.
> 
> Un-beta'd because I'm lazy like that.
> 
> Listen to Smile here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0CNzX7rq-s
> 
> I would recommend you listen to Smile as you read. :)
> 
> Happy reading!

The scenery outside the hotel room window is drab, barely interesting enough to capture Grantaire’s attention, let alone hold it. His gaze keeps flickering from the dusty rain-tracks on the glass pressed underneath his cheek to the beautiful boy sleeping in the bed. 

The sheets are rumpled around Enjolras’ waist, a dark cream against the slightly golden-tinted alabaster skin of his nude torso. The ringlets on the top of his head fan out in a halo on the pillow, glinting in the yellow light from the bedside lamp. Evidence of their night’s activities is stark on his skin; long scratches and a smattering of hickeys that Grantaire knows from previous experience will have Enjolras half-heartedly complaining. 

It’s quiet and dim in their room, Grantaire hardly daring to breathe from his perch on the window seat as he watches Enjolras’ back rise and fall with each breath. Logically, he knows that nothing short of an earthquake will wake up Enjolras, what with his tendency of being a deep sleeper. Despite all other proof that the man is a morning person, he really isn’t – it could be argued that that’s because Enjolras rarely sleeps. Chronic insomnia, Combeferre says, has had a tight hold on Enjolras since youth.

Still, Grantaire breathes as quietly as possible and contents himself with staring at Enjolras instead of wrapping him in his arms like he wants to do so badly.

Enjolras, still sleeping, shifts on the bed, body turning until he’s facing Grantaire. Grantaire’s heart hitches at the sight of the slight smile playing with his lips, which are pink and still slightly swollen from Grantaire’s own. The beard burn on his neck and jaw makes Grantaire flush, skin heating with the memory of just how soft Enjolras’ skin is underneath his own stubble.

Carefully, he gets up from his curled position on the window seat, lowering himself down on to the bed instead. His hand reaches out to trace the golden line of Enjolras’ brows, smoothing away any tension there might be. Enjolras’ smile widens infinitesimally, causing Grantaire to pause in the middle of an inhalation, own mouth being bitten by tentativeness-driven teeth. 

There’s something absolutely gorgeous about Enjolras when he’s lost to the realm of reality like this. His face is softer, the tense line of his brows and the hard, displeased curve of his mouth both mellowed out into an inviting expression. His hair, the only aspect of him that’s wild, is begging to have Grantaire’s fingers run through each ringlet, shining like a beacon for all lowly mortals to attach their hopes to. 

The sight of him like this makes Grantaire ache – with what, exactly, he’s not sure. Need. Want. Love. A fierce desire to make sure Enjolras is happy. But he knows that right at this very moment, what he wants is to kiss those petal-pink lips and have the taste and scent of Enjolras invade his senses. Then he remembers that he can do this, now that Enjolras is his (and his chest tingles every time he remembers the fact) so he bends down, slowly, and presses his lips to Enjolras’ in a tentative kiss.  
Almost instantly, there is pressure against his mouth as Enjolras kisses him back despite being asleep. The taste of him is sweet on his tongue, like mulled wine and honey, his scent that which Grantaire is certain what Amortentia would smell like to him.

He feels the tickle of Enjolras’ lashes flutter against his cheek, soft like a feather, and feels more than hears his name whispered against his own skin.

Leaning back slightly, he smiles when his boyfriend’s (his! boyfriend!) larkspur blue eyes peer at him curiously. There’s love in those eyes, too, and the depth of that emotion makes his heart swell. He can’t help the smile that stretches his mouth, so much so that his cheeks hurt from trying to hold it back. And why should he hold it back? If he wants to smile like a lunatic at Enjolras, he will. If he wants to spend most of his time kissing his boyfriend’s perfect skin, memorising his taste and scent and every little thing about his body, he will. If he wants to tell him that he loves him, every day for the rest of his life, then by god he will and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t. It still takes him by surprise that he can do those things now, eyes trained on where his hand has shifted to gently cradle Enjolras’ jaw. His calloused thumb feels rough against the light morning-stubble Enjolras is sporting, and the catch of skin against hair stubs sends little thrills down his spine.

It’s a perfect moment, really, and he revels in it, allowing the feeling of absolute contentment settle low in his belly and flood his veins. It feels as though he’s been drinking sugary, caffeinated drinks and the rush has just kicked in, except instead of wanting to bounce of the walls with the kind of crazy energy that makes him uncontrollable, it feels as though his bones have been hollowed out and honey has been poured in place of the bone marrow. Lazy, golden syrup of bottled sunshine is sinuously rolling through him right now.

He doesn’t realise that he’s lost in his own mind until Enjolras lifts a delicate-boned hand and cradles his jaw, mirroring the hold he has on him. Enjolras doesn’t ask, merely waiting for Grantaire’s eyes to meet his so he can pull him down and fit their mouths together.

Grantaire can’t help it; he sighs into Enjolras’ mouth, thrilling when his lover swallows the breath as though he can’t let a single bit of it escape. The tight coil of happiness in his belly heats as the kiss deepens, and a distant part of his mind thinks _this is the most alive I’ve ever felt._

It’s a pretty heavenly morning spent with a boy who he swears was sent by the angels, Grantaire swears, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos very welcome :)
> 
> I'm always taking prompts, and you can find me at enjolraspermitsit.tumblr.com


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